Dreams of Fire
by DeathBySpoon09
Summary: What was Bilbo getting up to while wandering Thranduil's halls? You know what they say about cats and curiosity though... In this short story, our favorite Hobbit burglar follows the elf king into his private chambers, and finds himself in something of a pickle.


Whether it had been a single day or several weeks, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire did not know. Time seemed to run on its own accord in the hall of the Elvenking, just as much so as it did out in the forest of Mirkwood. But then, what did time matter to the elves, when they had all the ages of the world to live? Still, Bilbo knew that Thorin and the others were running out of time. Durin's Day was fast approaching, and if they did not reach the Lonely Mountain by then, the quest would be in vain. This thought gave a sense of urgency to the hobbit's silent steps, even as he wandered about looking for an answer. For all the talk about him being a burglar, Bilbo didn't know the first thing about picking locks.

The sounds of music filled the halls from above, and Bilbo suspected there was a feast of sorts going on in the main level. Still, he kept closer to the dungeons, waiting and watching for an opportunity. He didn't know what that opportunity would look like, but imaged that he'd recognize it when he saw it. Low voices reached him as he stepped onto the overhang that surveyed the prison levels, and even with the Ring securely on his finger, he couldn't help but feel his heart quicken at the sight of an elf. The red-haired captain was not looking in Bilbo's direction though, and he relaxed. Bilbo was surprised to see what appeared to be a very attentive conversation between the she-elf and Kili unfolding below, through the bars of the cell. Kili was describing a Fire Moon he once saw;

"Red and gold it was, it filled the sky!"

Although Bilbo couldn't see the elf's face, her voice sounded almost reverent when she responded. With a shrug, the burglar turned away from the exchange and carried on towards the upper levels. He wondered what Thorin would think about his nephew getting so friendly with an elf...but decided not to inform the gruff company leader in any case.

The higher up the staircases he climbed, the more well-lit and smooth the passages of the palace became. Bilbo had passed this way several times before in his explorations, and always the masked guards at the doorways unnerved him. The large oaken doors, heavily inlaid with carvings that Bilbo suspected led to royal apartments, were usually always closed and guarded, but tonight was different. Bilbo nearly squeaked with surprise as King Thranduil himself came breezing up the stairs behind him. Flattening himself against the inner column of the stairway, Bilbo just barely avoided being brushed by Thranduil's long, trailing robes. Instead, he watched as the elf king waved the guards aside, and the doors to his private quarters swung inward.

Acting on instinct, Bilbo quietly slipped forward...and followed Thranduil through the rapidly-closing doors. Perhaps, in private, the king would let slip some secret of how to escape from this impenetrable fortress of his. Keeping against the wall, Bilbo couldn't help but be in awe of the beauty of the elven king's personal quarters. Silver wire was inlaid throughout the wooden carvings of the walls, giving the living tapestries they formed an unearthly sheen. Lanterns were hung along the walls, and their pale golden light shone upon Thranduil's hair and face as he strode to a set of dresser-drawers, undoing the clasp on his long outer robes as he went. With a quiet sigh, he dropped the robe on a hook, growing straight out from the wall. Next to go was the sharp-edged crown, which Thranduil worked carefully with deft fingers to release from the pins that held it to his silver-blonde hair.

What happened next though is what shocked Bilbo. Closing his eyes, Thranduil seemed to sag somewhat, as though setting down a heavy weight. Like a veil dropping away, the glamour-like illusion that he sustained throughout each and every day since wars long-past vanished. Bilbo had to hold his breath to avoid gasping at the sight that remained; the true face of the elf king. A vicious, half-healed looking burn spread from lower jaw to forehead, leaving a waste of missing skin and revealed flesh in it's wake. On one side of his face, Thranduil was as fair as any elf, if not fairer. On his left side though, Bilbo had no doubt that he had been burned in the most horrible of ways. Even his eye, white and clouded, remained fixed and unseeing.

Reaching up, gingerly placing the tips of his fingers on the ruin of his cheek, Thranduil frowned, and spoke in a very low voice. "I have seen fire, Thorin Oakenshield. You know nothing of the things that I have seen..."

Rather than be repulsed though, Bilbo felt a sudden welling of sympathy for King Thranduil. Of course it would make sense that, having suffered such an injury, and being responsible for so many lives in his kingdom, he would have no interest in helping the dwarves that drew Smaug to the realm. Compassion can be a many-sided looking glass, and the quest suddenly seemed so much more complex than just reclaiming a mountain. What if Smaug wasn't even dead, and their coming roused him?

These internal questions were abruptly shuffled aside though, when Thranduil reached up to begin unbuttoning his tunic. At the end of a long day, the elven king wanted nothing more than to relax in a hot bath...and Bilbo was trapped in his private quarters. Looking around and seeing no other exits, Bilbo was flustered, and had no choice but to keep quiet and close his eyes when the tunic dropped to the floor.


End file.
